


Stella By Starlight

by Qekyo



Series: Selene; the moon [7]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Airplanes, Established Relationship, Fireworks, First Meetings, Holidays, Kissing, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, forgive my grammatical mistakes i am RUSTY, i speedran this dudududu, literally all fluff bc ive written too much angst, no beta we die like me, simps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28527357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qekyo/pseuds/Qekyo
Summary: “You’re here,” Dream mutters, his hands playing through the curls of George’s hair.Standing in the middle of Florida, Orlando, Sanford International airport, hugging his boyfriend for the first time, George can’t believe it for himself.“I’m here.”Dream's laughter is quiet and muffled as his grip around George’s waist tightens. And with something akin to childlike wonder, his eyes sparkle.George is here. He feels like he needs to tell that to himself over and over— He’s here, he’s here, he’s here—And he doesn’t plan to leave.(or, the really rushed self indulgent new years fic :)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Selene; the moon [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979491
Comments: 31
Kudos: 810
Collections: MCYT





	Stella By Starlight

**Author's Note:**

> omfg i hate this so much
> 
> so yeah, first fic in 2 months, probably not gonna write for a bit after this bc im super burnt out and reused some lines from my already made fics (if you see them, no you dont. keep reading) this is literally my least favorite work bc of how halfassed it is and i literally wanna throw it in a dumpster fire if it wasnt for ve and the sma server telling me otherwise.
> 
> this is dedicated to them. happy new years (no this is not late wdym) Vibe Emporium and Shaking my ass in sand. ily all so much.
> 
> credit to my betas:  
> reah/@aureahlin  
> abby/isleofdreams  
> glitch (im so sorry i forgot ur acc name ajkfhasad ill edit this later)  
> and rel and jc <3
> 
> ALSO: the song used in this fic is called Stella by Starlight by frank sinatra :) my childhood so yeah thats a thing ig
> 
> also i have a discord so yeah: [here](https://discord.gg/EDaSdsem2H)

George thinks it's too late.

_“Flight from Heathrow London Airport now landing. I repeat, now landing in Orlando Florida. Thank you for flying with us— “_

His carry-on backpack seems heavier than it did 5 hours ago, or maybe it was just the dread of his entirely spontaneous decision weighing down on him. Either way, his shoulder blades ache, as he shifts awkwardly in his seat, fiddling with the straps of his bag and biting on his lip until it bleeds. He thinks it's too late.

Was it stupid to spontanously go on a completely impromptu flight? Yes. Was it even more stupid of him to go a few hours before new years, when the airport would be packed with people all over the world, clamouring to get on airplanes, just like his? _Absolutely,_ yes. 

Was it worth it to get to see his boyfriend’s face in person for the first time?

George looks out the airplane window. The lights of the city grow stronger and brighter, as the plane slowly descends onto the ground. The night stars gleam brightly in the sky, as he waves farewell to the clouds he’s been staring at for the past ten-hours or so, his heart beating erratically in his chest.

Even when his ears begin to ring with the descending air pressure of their descent, George smiles to himself.

_“Final call, all passengers may prepare for landing. Please do not crowd the corridors as you retrieve your luggage. I repeat, we are now landing.”_

George, like many others, bolts out of his seat. Trying his best to ignore the annoyed groans of the other passengers when he shuffles in between them. He avoids the particularly piercing glares he gets from the old lady across the seat from him, when he gets on his phone almost instantly to check the time centered on the glowing screen.

_10:47_

His breath hitches at the sight. He shoves his phone right back into his threaded windbreaker’s pockets. Feet stumbling to the front of the plane, he manages to corral himself away from the herd of rushing passengers and into the transfer tube connecting the airplane to the boarding station.

A blast of cold wind hits his face, sending goosebumps over his clothed skin. His nose scrunches at the potent smell of burnt jet fuel and stale coffee. His shoes squeak against the shiny tiled floors of the airport. Ticket clutched tightly in hand, as he steadies his breathing.

This is it. He’s here, he’s arrived and he’s _going_ to do this.

George makes his way over to the metal screen, dropping his luggage into the neat, plastic trays, as he steps through the frame. He holds his breath when the security guard’s tired, glassy eyes glaze over at him. He nudges his head forward, and George nearly sprints for his bag and scurries his way over to the baggage claim area, with such an alarming amount of speed that he almost skids on the tiled floor.

His eyes dart from the long conveyor belt of the baggage claim area, to the bright monitor overhead, showing the list of flights and a conveniently placed clock. 

George’s leg bounces in anticipation, while his eyes stare intently at the oncoming luggage bags. The cold air picking at his skin, numbing his fingers. When he finally sees his bag roll out onto the belt, he grabs it so fast it makes a loud noise that makes everyone else in the area look at him oddly.

His cheeks flush hotly as he darts out, feeling his entire body warm up. Eyes scanning the tall concrete pillars and sleek metal chairs. He looks out the large glass windows that act as walls to the outside. The glow of the building lights in the distance make it seem like a sea of stars, stretching for miles and miles. George is enraptured by the beauty of this industrialized view, that he doesn’t notice the wave of people that pass by him, whispering and talking amongst themselves about their wishes for the new year.

George stands still. Phone clutched tightly in a white-knuckled grip, trolley bag standing forgotten beside him.

_New year's wishes_. 

He’s never truly celebrated the New Year really, his family didn’t necessarily have any standout traditions that they followed. They would just eat together as a whole until the countdown and watch the fireworks. George enjoyed it really, the simplicity of it all. He didn’t need to go out of his way to make it anything more than comfortable. And it had been like that for the rest of the upcoming years.

Maybe that’s why he lost sight of the holiday when he grew older. _Another year, the same thing_ , he thought. When you have nothing to look forward to, you tend to forget why you cared all-together.

Repetition; the act of doing something over and over again— until it loses its meaning. 

New years tend to go like that, sitting alone in his room, after a dinner or meeting up with his family. Sitting in the same chair, watching the same countdown, feeling the same. 

That is, until he started specifically calling Dream every year. 

Long distance was hard, especially if all you knew about your significant other is photos and late night discord calls— but somehow— they made it work. They made it work with meticulous time and care, with communication and active listening. George loved Dream for that.

Dream, who made sure every important holiday was celebrated on call. Dream, who made sure to ship him gifts from across the ocean, with cheesy little note cards attached to them. Dream, who loved with a heart so big that it made the distance between them feel almost non-existent. 

Because love like theirs, is a relationship where two people are willing to take the extra mile; but still meet in the middle.

Sometimes, George will think he isn’t doing _enough_ . He isn’t doing enough, he isn’t trying enough, he isn’t loving _Dream_ enough. And when those thoughts come, Dream will always be there, calling his phone at any hour of the night just to tell him he’s either stupid or wrong. Dream will tell him that he is more than what he says he is, that the effort he gives is more than what anyone needs. 

That loving him is more than enough. 

And George will smile, even when he says he won’t. His heart strings will pull like they’re being played by the most nimble of hands, a soft, lovesick, heart-wrenching melody from the very core of his being. George will laugh- and it will feel like the easiest thing in the world. Dream will tell George all the things he needs to hear, and George will believe him. 

Love does not fray, nor fade with time. It only grows into something more than what it was before.

George smiles, as he turns away from the windowed walls and grabs onto the handle of his trolley bag again. He slowly begins to walk towards the arrival gates. Palms sweaty as he walks through the masses of people waiting to board their flight. His feet are firmly planted in the ground, as his eyes wander around the vast expense of the building, blindly looking around for his destination. 

He feels the panic slowly rise in him, when he begins to get lost. He aimlessly walks around the airport for any sight of the international boarding terminal, now deciding at that moment how much he hates American airports, and their confusing navigation systems. He makes a sharp turn around a corner, and instead of the exit he had been hoping for, he finds a bathroom.

George groans, running a hand through his fringe in frustration. He looks up at the sterile white ceiling. Counting the cracks that subtly crawl through the worn paint, a long sigh heaves out of his chest.

The British man walks into the completely empty bathroom, with low hanging lights and granite sinks. He flips on the sink, and lets the cold water run over his hands. The tension in his shoulders lax. 

George looks into the mirror and sees eyebags caused by the lack of sleep on his ride. He was restless throughout, dread rising in his stomach everytime he thought about stepping into a foreign country he had never been before, all by himself with nothing but a lovelorn heart and a pocket full of cash.

He looks into his eyes, tired and weary, and thinks that he really should’ve thought this through a bit more.

His phone lays undisturbed on the counter, his eyes glance to it every so often as if it’ll come alive and scream at him. He cleans off his hands and dries them, before reaching over and turning it on.

_11:21—_

A firework explodes, and George can hear it from the inside of the airport bathroom.

His heart lurched out of his chest, hands scrambling to grip his luggage. _Shit shit shit shit-_ he mutters under his breath, whilst rushing out of the bathroom. If George can hear the fireworks erupt from the bathroom- then that must mean the exit isn’t too far off.

He swears, that he has never ran this fast in his whole fucking life. Even during the sports he used to do in highschool, he swears that his legs have never wanted to give out more than in this moment. He pants, as if he’s ran a whole marathon- and sweats as if he was dropped into the Sahara Desert. But even so, George runs.

He follows the sound of crackling explosives and cheers until it eventually leads him to the departure terminal, cold, slightly damp and out of breath, but _there._

He prays to any god up there that he isn’t late.

George stumbles out of the terminal on unsteady footing. Somehow, even being the hottest state in this god forsaken country— it still manages to be absolutely _freezing_ at night. He feels the winter air bite at his skin, even through his thick clothing. His teeth chatter, while he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket and curls into the neckline of his scarf. He looks up to the display board that hangs on the wall. George bites his lip and picks at his fingernails in an anxious manner, as numbers increase on the screen.

Maybe it's his anxiety, maybe it’s the disparity of the situation in general. 

Maybe it’s the thought that he won’t actually make it.

George tries to ignore the way tears well up in the corners of his eyes. He rubs at them thoroughly, internally berating himself for having such low confidence. George is here. He made the decision to be here and he’s already done so much to be here. If there was anything he wasn’t going to do— giving up would be one of them.

He stands there, with the cold night of Orlando brushing against his skin, waiting under the low hanging lights of the international terminal, with nothing but his luggage and a heavy heart. The sounds of the passing cars and the awfully giddy cheers from families meeting up makes his head dizzy. He waits with bated breath.

George exhales a long breath, the seconds trickle by on the digitized screen, as he feels the hope slowly get sucked out of him. 

_Maybe a ten hour flight on the busiest day of the year wasn’t the best idea,_ he thought, while turning around. The wheels of his trolley bag scraped behind him. George sighed. 

George is late when— 

He jumps suddenly, feeling an incessant buzzing in his pocket. George groans, fishing out his vibrating phone out of the confines of his jacket and presses it against his ear without even checking the ID.

“Hello?— ” 

A breathless sound comes from the other end, it sounds almost like a laugh and a cough at the same time. 

“Turn around.” 

It’s awfully corny, even George can admit it. It happens in slow motion, the world seems to stop against the pounding of his heart within his chest- and time seems to lose all sense. They say there is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.

Even when George knows it's coming, he still feels totally unprepared for how it makes him feel. 

He chokes a sob, an unconscious smile playing at his lips. 

“You’re such an idiot,” 

Dream laughs, and George thinks it's the answer to the question he’s been trying to solve his whole life. It’s light and airy, but George feels like it's the loudest sound in the room.

“I can’t believe that’s the first thing you say to me, Georgie.”

In front of him is a man with ashen blonde hair and spell-binding viridian eyes. He looks almost bashful, cheeks dusted a gentle pink that shows off the dozens of freckles across his face. He presses the phone against his ear with a coy smile that shows off the dimples at the sides of his face. He’s wearing a dark overcoat and blackturtle neck to avoid the cold. George thinks it’s so much more than the grainy video calls at 3 am, he breathes and laughs as if George isn’t falling deeper and deeper in love at the second. 

It’s awfully corny, when George and Dream look at each other from across the airport terminal, phones pressed against their ears as they look at each other like innocent teenagers in love. Tender looks from across the room and soft subtle smiles. 

It’s as if the butterflies in his stomach have grown in number, bustling and alive in the concaves of his chest.

George runs into his arms.

They collide like distant stars, grasping at each other for the first time in centuries. George flings himself onto Dream, laughing so hard that his stomach begins to churn. And Dream catches him, circling his arms around his waist, and bringing him so impossibly close- it’s like the distance between them never existed.

He lays his head in the crook of Dream’s neck, the cold Floridian air feels like nothing compared to the warmth his body radiates.

“You’re here,” Dream mutters, his hands playing through the curls of George’s hair. 

Standing in the middle of Florida, Orlando, Sanford International airport, hugging his boyfriend for the first time, George can’t believe it for himself.

“I’m here.” 

Dream's laughter is quiet and muffled as his grip around George’s waist tightens. And with something akin to childlike wonder, his eyes sparkle.

George is here. He feels like he needs to tell that to himself over and over— He’s here, he’s here, he’s _here—_

And he doesn’t plan to leave.

“Let’s head to the car,” The blonde says wistfully. George nods into the fabric of his coat. 

Dream takes George’s luggage despite his complaining, he laughs, while throwing George’s carry-on over his shoulder like it weighs almost nothing. The other man tries to act like he’s upset, with his bottom lip jutting out and arms crossed tightly against his chest. Dream will wheeze, telling George he looks more butthurt than upset and George will hit him on the shoulder and tell him how much of a dumbass he is. 

The smiling and the laughing and the _loving_ comes easy. It’s like he was born for this.

Dream, like the dork he is, opens the car door for George, like he’s some sort of classy high-maintenance lady. George rolls his eyes, stepping inside the passenger seat while the other man loads his luggage into the back trunk. 

The British man sinks into the supple leather seats, and releases a long and heavy sigh. The tension rolls off his shoulders as he stretches from hours of being confined in a metal tube. He takes a deep breath, smelling the oddly endearing scent of green apple car freshener, and soothes his aching muscles.

George closes his eyes and lets himself relax, he listens to the sound of Dream opening the driver’s door and quietly chuckling at nothing (or at least he thinks it’s nothing). 

“Don’t fall asleep yet, Georgie, we still have to get back home.” The blonde laughs softly, inserting his key into the ignition and starting the car. “We still have to talk about your flight.”

George scoffs lightheartedly. “What can I say? It was cramped and had shitty food.”

Dream raises an eyebrow, “You didn’t fly business?”

The british man opens a single eye to glance at Dream. “Economy would’ve gotten me here before the new year’s faster.”

There’s something about the way his words fall casually out of his mouth. Dream turns to him, smile soft and intimate, George feels his heart skip a beat at the look.

Dream looks at George like that— George is the luckiest man in the world.

“We’ve got so much planned- for the New Years I mean.” Dream starts, eyes gleaming in the warm dim lighting of his car, “We’re gonna go meet my parents for dinner. You’ll get to talk to Drista too— she’s been begging to see you ever since I mentioned it.” 

Dream begins to ramble, hands animatedly describing his elaborate plan for the holiday. If George could say it, he would tell him how excited he was too. He hasn’t celebrated an actual new year’s party in god knows how long. The bubbling anticipation in his chest brought a certain type of joy to their conversation.

“Then we can meet up with Sapnap later in the day. Did you know he was flying out too? We’ll all be celebrating together.” His boyfriend continues, and somehow in the mix of his rambles, George’s hand snakes its way around his.

“Then I can show you around Orlando, the lights and the food and the— “

_Boom!_

George’s eyes pry themselves open at the sound of fireworks. He instantly sits up, eagerly peeking out of the car window to see the brilliant display of colors erupt in the sky. The fireworks are sparkling like falling stars and they burn so bright.

George had always loved the fireworks, they were probably his favorite part of the New Year.

He watches in an awe at the display, so many sizes and colors painting the night sky. A smile finds its way on his face almost instantly.

“Dream!” He whips his head to his boyfriend, eyes sparkling. 

“George”

The glee in his voice is instantly cut short at the panicked look on Dream’s face. 

George’s stomach drops when he sees it, eyes furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. Breath heaving out of him in slow and focused motions. His hands wrapped tightly around the drive stick, knuckles white. George can see the subtle way they tremble. 

“Dream?” He asks quietly, the fireworks outside their car almost drowns out his voice entirely. He fears that Dream might not be able to hear him from the thundering sounds of explosives.

But to his surprise Dream turns to him, his smile slightly forced and lopsided, but still smiling.

“I’m fine.” he says, hushed and forlorn, like George can’t see how his hands shake on the steering wheel. “Just got surprised.”

Something inside George twists. As if the look of discomfort on Dream’s face physically pains him. 

“By the fireworks?” He inquires gently. Slowly bringing back his hand to intertwine it with the other man. Dream holds on with a dangerously tight grip, as if George is a paper boat at treacherous seas, and the man beside him is holding on for dear life.

Dream shakes his head, a sardonic smile curling up on his lips. “It’s nothing,” He says, and George couldn’t disagree more. 

“It’s not nothing, Dream.” He mutters. “I’m here.” 

The effect is instantaneous. George doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but it’s something about the way Dream’s eyes turn crestfallen, and the grip on his hand grows tighter. George doesn’t want to run in too fast— but his heart bursts with emotions stronger than any firework. 

He’ll scream his love he has for this man from the mountain tops, he’ll shout how in love he is until the world falls in love with him too.

“It’s just— “ He struggles to find the words, as if they’re glued to the top of his mouth. George doesn’t care how long it takes for him, he’ll stay there for as long as he needs him to be.

George stays with him, holding his calloused hands in his. He runs his thumb over the soft skin of his wrist, right under his pulse. 

“Loud. It’s just loud, yeah?” 

This time, it’s George’s turn to squeeze Dream’s hand. There’s this quiet moment between them, hearts laid heavy out for each other too see, Dream’s cheeks are flushed from embarrassment (even if the dim lighting hides most of it), George smiles. Kind and soft.

His hands turn to the windows, and bring them up all the way.

“George?—”

His hands go to the car stereo. He flips aimlessly for a couple of channels or so— going past news, tacky hip hop, coffee jazz… until finally the radio begins to buzz with the soft tunes of grainy violins and delicate piano. 

_The song a robin sings, Through years of endless springs-_

“What are you-” Dream says as if he’s on the verge of a laugh. George smiles to himself, while slowly twisting the knob on the stereo to turn up the volume.

_The murmur of a brook at eventide. That ripples by a nook where two lovers hide,_

The notes of Frank Sinatra echo around the car, bouncing off the walls and filling the room with the mellifluous pull of strings and mellow piano keys. George hums along to the tune, swaying with the rhythm.

“Oh my god,” Dream scoffs, throwing an arm over his face to hide the rising heat that flows up to his cheeks. “You really are such an idiot.” 

The Brit barks out a laugh, louder than the fireworks outside. He throws his own arm over Dream’s- hoping to pry it off and get a glimpse of his adorably flushed face. Dream recoils, playfully smacking George and yelling at him to get off, as the two of them lightly brawl in the dim lit parking lot of the airport.

There’s something magical about the whole situation that seems to put George in a trance.

George watches Dream, how his wheezes heave out of his chest and how his nose scrunches when he laughs. He watches with such deep infatuation. Watching how his eyes crinkle like semi crescent moons, freckles like the stars.

George was stuck in the galaxy of loving him.

He manages to squeeze his way into Dream’s seat, partially on his lap while he pries off the man’s arm. George tries to memorize the sight. Dream laughing and red, with windswept hair and dotted cheeks, he wants to engrave into his heart, so that it knows what it beats for.

_A great symphonic theme—_

_“That’s Stella by starlight.”_ George sings, nose brushing against Dream’s. The other chuckles lowly, and George can practically feel the vibrations reverberate across his body by how close they were. Electricity courses through his veins, sending goosebumps up his skin.

There was no other word to describe this moment than; intimate.

Like maelstroms, sucking him in further and further until he runs out of the air, and starts to drown in what seems like a bottomless pit of feelings that begin to resurface. George wants more— he wants to live on this emotion till the ocean runs dry and the stars fall out of the sky. 

_And not a dream, My heart and I agree_

They’re now within breathing space, breaths mingling with each other as the distance between them closes. Fire dances across his skin, heat piling in his stomach as his head begins to grow dizzy with nothing more but pure _want._

“Can I?” Dream asks, 

George wants to laugh, he already had the answer the moment he started loving him,

“Always,” 

He doesn’t need to check his phone to know.

_12:00—_

The fireworks explode behind them, but this time George doesn’t bother to check. The noise itself is almost completely drowned out by the notes of the song. He leans in closer, their lips connect, and it’s beautiful.

_And He’s everything on earth to me._

You won’t know when you love him. That’s the beauty of love, how it comes in a single second. A moment, where the heart is defenseless and the mind is pure. Freedom is where you love the most without a fear of having to lose it. Open your eyes, and see that he, will always be, worth the chaos.

Their kiss is shy, like two inexperienced teens. Timid and demure as with noses bumping into each other and teeth slightly getting in the way. It was new, and sudden— but George wouldn’t have it any other way.

Dream holds him tightly in his arms. It sends ripples across his body, as he feels the blonde smile into the kiss. Mouth curling as George presses his against Dream’s. The Brit chuckles, pushing their foreheads together.

“Happy New Years, George” Dream whispers, laying his forehead back down into the crook of George’s neck. The Brit laughs at the action, this time it was his turn to run his fingers through unruly hair. He stares out at the window idly, watching the fireworks go out as the fading crescendo of the song washes through them.

His thoughts wander back to the airport window, with a city filled with stars yet to be explored. 

_Repetition; the act of doing something over and over again— until it loses its meaning._

George looks back, to that moment, only an hour ago. He wonders how much can change in just a second, it’s scary yet- oddly comforting. 

George chuckles, he swears kissing Dream will never lose its meaning.

He’ll never get tired of falling in love, over and over and over and over and over-.

“Happy New Years,” he whispers back, and in that quiet moment of theirs, he’s sure it’s love. It’s always been love, and it could be everything else and more.

George smiles,

He was just on time.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ufduhdsadsa im so sorry for that,
> 
> anyways simp for me? leave ur comments and kudos if u enjoyed whatever the fuck that was <3
> 
> [stella by starlight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSwcCTRB6-g)
> 
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/qekyo)  
> the [discord](https://discord.gg/EDaSdsem2H)


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